


In Which Michael Accidentally Kills a Man

by Birds_And_Buses



Series: A Murderer and a Psycho [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Creepy Fluff, Creepy Ryan, Crew Dad Geoff, Crew Mom Jack, Dubious Morality, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Fake AH Crew, Fantasizing, Jealous Ryan, Jealousy, Lonely Michael, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Self Confidence Issues, Sexual Fantasy, The violence isn't that graphic but I want to be safe, WIP, fluffier than it sounds, mentions of depression, slight angst, sort of, trust me - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5136749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birds_And_Buses/pseuds/Birds_And_Buses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Michael accidentally(?) kills a man, and a stranger helps clean up the mess and doesn't call the cops on him.<br/>Of course, Michael isn't lucky enough for it to all end there.</p><p> </p><p>[This is a work in progress! I'm trying to upload at the least one chapter a week, but updates might be more or less frequent!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Accident

**Author's Note:**

> This just kinda happened. I know it starts really abruptly and the pacing is a little off; I'll likely go back for some much needed editing at a later date, I just really wanted to get something uploaded. I might add more chapters if people want me to, so definitely leave a comment if you want more of this train wreck! It's been fun to write so far ^-^

Ryan was glad to be going home tonight. He'd been away from his apartment for a few days now, sleeping in his own bed was quickly becoming his top priority. The latest heist had gone well, and he could expect a generous sum to be wired to him by tomorrow. He loved when jobs like these went well, as they were never a guarantee. He was reveling in a job well done when he heard... something. A very distinct something.

 

He listened more intently.

 

Stifled, labored breathing. Hushed utterances. Coming from the side street to his left. Male. Younger.

 

Ryan walked nearer to the source, then stopped short at the mouth of the allyway, taking in the scene before him.

 

There was a young man slumped against the brick wall with his head in his hands, fingers tugging at short, ruddy-brown hair. He wore a black hoodie and dark jeans, both of which contrasted harshly with his pale skin. Ryan couldn't see his face, but upon closer inspection, he seemed to have blood smeared across his hands, and likely in other places as well. Ryan licked his lips. A limp body lay before the young man, an arm twisted behind his back awkwardly. He was dead - that much was obvious. There wasn't much blood that Ryan could see, but he suspected, by the state of the young man, that he wasn't seeing the whole story.

 

The young man let out a shuddering breath and for a moment Ryan thought he'd been seen. His eyes flicked over to the lad. He was scrubbing both hands over his face, head down-turned still. Ryan observed him silently for a few long minutes before speaking up.

 

"Just what do we have here?" Ryan stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back.

 

The young man's head snapped up and he reared backwards, landing hard on his tailbone. He hissed through his teeth, but his attention went quickly to Ryan, who smiled benignly. The older man took in the boy's curly hair, pale skin, and freckled cheeks with an appreciative raise of an eye brow. "H-he, he..." The young man swallowed; Ryan could see his throat convulse from where he stood. "He attacked me - pulled out a knife. It was an accident, I-I-I didn't... I didn't mean to... I... it was an accident." He pushed himself off the ground with shaking arms, staring down at the body all the while.

 

Ryan hummed low in his throat, tilting his head as he approached. He took no small amount of pleasure in the way the young man shuffled back with wide eyes. He pulled a pair of black leather gloves from an inner jacket pocket and slipped them on, crouching down to examine the lifeless man. He carefully flipped the body over and, ah, yes, there's the blood. Several knife wounds could be seen on the dead man's abdomen, and the weapon (a small switchblade with a brown hilt) was still lodged in his gut. The ordeal was messy, the work of a novice, but Ryan already knew that much.

 

"A bit excessive for just an accident, isn't it?" Ryan teased with a grin.

 

The young man didn't respond. He stood there, silent, staring at his own bloodied hands and looking a bit sick. Ryan's smile fell into something more sober.

 

"Are you hurt?" he asked calmly, prodding at the swollen flesh around the entry wound where the hilt of the blade protruded.

 

"Am I-" the young man shook his head in confusion. "No, not- not really, I... Wh-who are...?" The color drained from his face as he watched Ryan slide the knife from the man's stomach in a smooth motion, blood trickling out after it.

 

"Don't look so disgusted. You seemed to have been having a grand ol' time when you were gutting him with his own knife." The young man was silent. Ryan wiped the excess blood off on the man's pants, folded the blade, then pocketed it. He dug around in the dead man's pockets and pulled out his wallet, flipping it through it idly.

 

"Wha-what are you doing?" the young man asked meekly, and Ryan could practically hear the blood rushing through his veins.

 

"Oh, just taking inventory," Ryan said coolly, pulling out a Visa card and a small wad of cash, along with an ID. He held out the money to the young man with an air of casualness. The wallet was stuffed into his pocket as well.

 

When the young man didn't immediately take the offering, Ryan looked up.

 

"For your troubles," he joked with an easy smile.

 

"Isn't this... shouldn't we call the police?" It was obvious that that thought scared the boy possibly more than whatever Ryan had planned.

 

"No," the older man affirmed. "Unless you think prison would be kind to you."

 

Ryan waved the money at him and, this time, the young man took it, albeit hesitantly. Ryan nodded approvingly.

 

"But..." the young man started, shutting his mouth when Ryan shot him a sharp look.

 

" _Do_  you think prison would be kind to you?" Ryan asked, slightly scathing, as he procured a flip phone from one of his pockets.

 

"No, but-"

 

"One moment, please." Ryan dialed a number quickly and someone picked up after less than a single ring. "Clean up. Now. I'll be gone by the time you get here; I trust you can find him before the cops do. Get eyes on the killer, too. He's... interesting." He hang up and jammed his phone into the dead man's slackened mouth. He could feel the young man behind him recoil.

 

"Are-are you going to kill me?" he heard the lad ask in a hushed tone.

 

Ryan chuckled darkly.

 

"Oh, no, no." Ryan turned to face the shorter man, who seemed to cower under his gaze. "Didn't you hear me? I said you're interesting. Why on earth would I kill you?"

 

"Are you... helping me?"

 

The older man stared at the lad until the young man could no longer hold his gaze, averting his eyes to the floor with an uncomfortable expression.

 

"Follow me, kid," Ryan said, peeling off his gloves and stepping over the dead body, tossing the gloves onto the floor without a care.

 

"What?" the young man questioned, slightly panicked.

 

"Follow me," Ryan restated sternly.

 

"No," the young man said, taking a step back. "I - why? What are you going to do with me?"

 

Ryan grinned cockily.

 

"I'm going to help you."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, lovelies! I hope you enjoy ^-^  
> I know this chapter is short, but it technically wasn't supposed to happen at all. Get ready for a POV switch in the next chapter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Hold on," the young man said in an unexpected bout of confidence, holding a hand out in front of him. "That, that's not enough to go off of. I'm not just-" he huffed a humorless laugh. "I'm not just gonna go along with some guy who... what, has a clean-up crew for dead bodies? Doesn't turn in murderers? Take your pick, man, there's a fucking lot to choose from."

 

The sudden change in tone was surprising, and Ryan was more intrigued than he could articulate in that moment. Despite the firm eye contact, the boy wisely backed up when Ryan took a step toward him. He wasn't stupid, then. Good.

 

Ryan smirked.

 

The young man's frown deepened, as if he knew Ryan entirely had the upper hand in this situation. That was good, too.

 

"In about, say, 10 minutes, five men are going to walk into this alleyway and clean up the mess you've made. They are never going to try and contact you. They will not question me about why I am affiliated with you." That part was a lie. Gavin was getting intel for Ryan, and he'd have plenty of questions, but the kid didn't need to know that. "If you so wish, you may leave now and be done with this entire situation," -also a lie, as Ryan wouldn't leave him alone for long, not with how much fun he could have with him- "however, I know what you did. I don't doubt that this man came at you with a knife, but do you honestly think I am naïve enough to believe you killed him by way of an accident?"

 

The lad's eyes widened and Ryan's narrowed hungrily.

 

"Now, maybe I'm way off base. Who knows?" Ryan knew. He wasn't wrong about this. There was too much intent, too much brutality in the killing to have been anything other than an impassioned murder. "But I think..." The taller man strode towards the other, like a predator tiptoeing around its prey. The younger man didn't move this time, as he was all but backed up against a brick wall now. "In some sick, twisted way..." Ryan crowded against him, his closed fist coming up to rest on the wall right by the boy's head. The lad looked at the fist, then back at Ryan. He looked scared, but made no move to run, and Ryan would bet that was because he knew he couldn't escape. "Part of you liked it. Have craved it. Crave it now, even."

 

"No," the younger man immediately protested, shaking his head. His eyes, dark brown in the low light, fell from Ryan's sharp blue ones to the older man's chest. "No, I'm not, I'm not a..." His expression became guarded, angry. "Fuckin' hell - you're crazy, that's what you are. I'm gettin' the fuck out of here."

 

He tried pushing past Ryan, but was only able to take a single step before a large hand pushed him back against the wall.

 

"Not so fast," Ryan warned in a low voice, keeping a hand on Michael's chest. Panicked brown eyes met stony blue.

 

There was a heavy silence.

 

"You...you said you'd let me go- you, you said-"

 

"I know, I know." Ryan's hand smoothed down the front of the t-shirt the young man wore, suddenly overcome with a need to touch, and he felt the lad shiver under his hand. He grinned wolfishly when the lad recoiled. Oh, how he wanted this young man. In what way, he wasn't yet sure himself. "I'd just like to say, before you run off... stay vigilant, would you? Don't let your guard down around anyone." He let his fingers curl around the boy's hip and leaned in close to whisper in his ear. _"Anyone_."

 

When he pulled back to look at the lad, he was amused to see blown pupils and darkening cheeks. He was fever-hot and trembling slightly, though Ryan wasn't sure whether he had been shaking the entire time or not. Either way, he hoped he was the cause for it now.

 

The lad didn't move from his position against the brick wall, so Ryan took it upon himself to urge him forward with a hand on his lower back. "Off ya go," he said a bit theatrically.

 

The younger stumbled as he left the ally, not turning back. Ryan didn't move until he could no longer hear the slap of footsteps on pavement. He took once last glance around at the ugly scene, then strolled off without a care, hands in his pockets. He'd get the lad next time. He was sure of that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Have a beautiful day and take care of yourself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, you beautiful creature.  
> I keep apologizing for short chapters, but then I continue to post short chapters. I'm awful, I know.  
> Any and all mistakes are my own. I know there will be a few.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Michael's hands shook as he rounded the corner, quickening his pace until he was practically jogging. His breath was sharp and uneven to his own ears. His heart thudded wildly. He was half convinced if he were to turn around, that man - that _psycho_ \- would be there, following him, not even trying to hide. Or would he rather weave through darkened back streets to remain hidden? Would he announce his presence before he attacked? Would he sneak up behind Michael with a knife to the younger's throat, or does he favor drugged kidnappings?

 

 

Michael lost himself in this sick fantasizing.

 

 

Would the taller man kidnap him at all? He may just want to kill Michael and be done with him. He may not even come after Michael, may never look for him or confront him. He may want _more_ from Michael, whether the boy agreed or not. Would he agree...?

 

 

Michael's stomach curled with both disgust and something more akin to desire.

 

 

He had reached his apartment in what seemed like no time at all. By the time he shut the door behind himself and locked the deadbolt, his mind was wandering to the man who had tried to mug him - the man he had murdered. He'd come out of nowhere, spewing threats, his switchblade glinting intimidatingly under the artificial light of a street lamp. When he had rushed at Michael, it was like a lever had been pulled; there was no hesitation when Michael's fist swung, connecting solidly with the man's jaw. He was quick to take control of the knife hand upon instict, though that distraction left an opening for the mugger to strike his upper cheek with an elbow, Michael being only slightly too slow to dodge. He had the upperhand, however, when he was able to twist the knife from the mugger's hand, and that was the end of it.

 

 

The next thing Michael knew, he was kneeling over his attacker, hand still on the hilt of the knife that was fixed deep into his abdomen. He felt like he was coming back into his body, like he'd been absent the past few minutes. His eyes trailed from the hilt of the knife, up to the several other bloodied wounds, oozing slowly, lazily, littered about his stomach and chest. His eyes kept wandering upward, to the blood and dirt-caked skin of his neck, to a bruising jaw and cheek, to lifeless eyes, empty and frozen like a vintage photograph.

 

 

Michael had thrown himself backwards, back connecting with the brick wall behind himself. He'd sat there for far too long, caught between the idea of calling the police and running far, far away. He could claim self-defense. It had _been,_ self-defense, hadn't it? Of course!

 

 

At... at first, that is...

 

 

And then _he_ showed up, with broad shoulders and sandy blond hair pulled back into a short ponytail. His bangs hung in his face. His eyes were world-weary, yet sharp and scathing. When he spoke for the first time, he sounded more like he was trying to pick Michael up at the bar, and not at all like he'd just stumbled across the scene of a crime.

 

 

_Just what do we have here?_

 

 

As if of all the things that could have happnened to that man on that night, finding a dead body and the man responsible for the muder was some inevitabilty - like the chance of rain, or the promise of a sunrise in the morning.

 

 

The older man was unconcerened and Michael didn't know how to handle it.

 

 

Michael had feared for his life, still does, even as he locks the door to his bathroom and strips bare. A task so menial as taking a shower seems almost silly to perform at this time, but there is blood drying under Michael's nails and it's the last thing about himself that feels unclean. He removes a crumpled wad of money from his jean's pocket and immediately throws it away from himself as if he were afraid of being contaminated. He steps into the shower.

 

 Standing under the scalding spray, he rubs his skin raw trying to remove the _filth_ from his body. He ignores the pink tint to the water as it rushes toward the drain. He ignores how badly his tender skin is burning under the searing cascade.

 

 

When he stepped out, he neglected grabbing a towel and instead let himself drip-dry in front of the mirror. He stared at himself. He had bags under his eyes. His hair was a mess of wet tangles plastered to his face. His skin was pink from the shower, cooling quickly and causing him to shiver.

 

 

When he left the bathroom, he went directly to his bedroom, feeling too sick to try and eat.

 

 

He fell heavy onto his mattress.

 

 

He didn't attempt to cover himself with a blanket.

 

 

He didn't sleep.

 

 

*****

In the morning, Michael shut off his alarm clock before it sounds and drags himself out of bed to get ready for work. He goes about making a pot of coffee, and dresses while the coffee brews. He feels empty. Caffeine doesn't help.

 

 

He had several moments that day in which he panicked, positive everyone who walked into the video game store would realize what he'd done. Part of him wasn't convinced that the man from last night had truly covered Michael's tracks and cleaned up his mess. He could have called the cops after Michael left. But then, why hadn't the police come for him yet?

 

 

Michael sighed frustratedly, and his coworker glanced over to him. Michael didn't look at the woman and she didn't say a thing to him. He was glad for that. He didn't feel like talking. He tried to muster up the guilt he knew he should be feeling over ignoring his friend ike that, but the attempt only drained him further.

 

 

He headed home at 9:30.

 

 

He didn't see the figure following him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

　

　

　

　

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Leave a comment and kudos is you like this story, as that is my main source of motivation to keep putting the effort into these things.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is much longer than the last, thankfully *sighs* I hope you guys enjoy. I love all of you. Yes, even you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Michael arrived home that night just shy of 10:10 PM. He locked his door behind himself and toed off his shoes while he removed his coat, tossing the article of clothing onto the couch. Immediately, Michael paused in the middle of the living room. Something was... off. He glanced around, tip-toeing across the floor quietly, surveying everything as he went. He couldn't quite explain his sudden and overwhelming discomfort, but it was pervasive, a sensation like he was being watched - a bug in a trapper-keeper.

 

  
None of his possessions seemed to be out of place, but he could just be used to his apartment being a mess.

 

  
His phone buzzed in is pocket and Michael nearly leapt out of his skin. He pulled his phone out and opened the message.

 

  
_From Unknown: Michael Jones, hm? Your name suits you nicely._

 

  
Michael's heart dropped to his stomach, landing like a rock. He made a run for his bedroom, checking there was no one else there with him before closing and locking the door. He made sure the window was secure and the blinds were shut before he sat himself down in a corner, huddled like a frightened child. Self-preservation, he thought to himself defensively.

 

  
His phone buzzed again.

 

  
_From Unknown: Oh, don't hide, now. I only wanted to say hi._

 

  
_From Unknown: I can still see you, Michael._

 

  
A shiver ran down Michael's spine. He hastened to call the police, hesitating for only a moment when he remembered what had happened - what he had done - just days before. He ultimately decided prison was better than this. A frustrated shout left him when all he heard on the other end was a dead line.

 

  
_From Unknown: Did it not cross your mind that I would think ahead? I'm insulted._

 

  
"Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off," Michael whispered in an angry plea, squeezing his eyes shut and scrubbing a hand over his face. "Please, god, just go away..."

 

  
_From Unknown: You're looking a little stressed._

 

  
Michael growled and covered his phone's camera with his fingers. He wasn't even sure if that was how the man was seeing him, but he thought it better to at least try to prevent himself from being watched anymore. For a few moments, there was only the sound of Michael's harsh pants as he tried to calm himself down. Then he got another notification.

 

  
_From Unknown: Why would you do that, Michael? I was enjoying that view quite thoroughly. I'll just have to try harder next time._

 

  
_From Unknown: I can hear you breathing. Worked up, aren't you?_

 

  
Michael's rage got the better of him and he angrily typed out a reply, red in the face.

 

  
Michael: What the fuck do you want you asshole

 

  
_From Unknown: Ah-ah. I will only respond if you speak out loud. I can hear you, remember?_

 

  
The young man hesitated. He shouldn't give this man the satisfaction of following orders. But... what would happen if he didn't? Michael swallowed.

 

  
"Wh-what do you want?" he croaked. He was beyond feeling embarrassed about stuttering, more concerned for his well-being.

 

  
_From Unknown: Good boy. Do you know who I am, Michael? I know who you are._

 

  
He was almost certainly the man from a few nights ago. Or someone affiliated with that man. Michael didn't respond.

 

  
_From Unknown: I want you, Michael._

 

  
Michael breathed in sharply. Something in his stomach twisted and he felt hot.

 

  
_From Unknown: More specifically, I want to help you. And I want you to help me._

 

  
"Who are you?" Michael asked.

 

  
_From Unknown: Oh, you already know, silly._

 

  
The lad huffed in frustration.

 

  
"Okay, but... but what's your name? How do you know my name? How'd you get my number- why, why did you contact me?"

 

  
His phone didn't buzz again.

 

  
Michael stared at his lit screen for a good few minutes, anxiety curling in his chest.

 

  
"Hel-hello?"

 

  
Silence for a while more, then...

 

  
_From Unknown: If I knocked on your door, would you let me in?_

 

  
"Uh..." Michael had no idea what answer the man expected. He wasn't even sure himself what he would do. He's speaking hypothetically, right? He doesn't know where Michael lives... right? "What would you do if I said 'no'?"

 

  
_From Unknown: I would come in anyway._

 

  
That's about what Michael expected.

 

  
"Then, then why even ask?" he said a bit hotly.

 

  
_From Unknown: Curiosity_.

 

  
That didn't settle well with Michael in the slightest. He bit his lip, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at his phone. "What if I said 'yes'?"

 

  
_From Unknown: How about we find out?_

 

  
Just then, there were three concise knocks at the door. Despite how quiet and muffled the sound was from back in his room, Michael startled, gasping. He turned off his phone and stood, inching toward his bedroom door. He unlocked it and stepped out. His footfalls were quiet. He coached his breathing into a control rhythm.  He could do this. He could keep his composure in front of that man, crazy though he may be. Michael was learning that he might be a little crazy, too.

 

  
He was stood before the front door now. His palms were clammy. His hands shook.  Sweat was beading on his forehead. He steeled himself, then unlocked and opened the door.  
And there he was. Standing a few inches taller than Michael, and much more broader shouldered, was the man who had approached the young man in the ally, offered his services, offered his help, whatever his idea of "help" was.

 

  
He was grinning, his blue eyes squinted around a dangerous glint.

 

  
"Hello, Mr. Michael Vincent Jones," he said in a low voice. "May I come in?"

 

  
Michael met the man's eyes and stepped to the side, allowing him enough room to pass by into the apartment. The man held eye contact all the while, a playful smirk on his face. Michael closed the door after him and sighed in relief when the taller man's gaze drifted away from him to survey the room. His hands were clasped behind his back, casual in a way Michael could only ever hope to be in such a tense situation. The young man watched the other take in his surroundings. Once he seemed to be satisfied, he turned back to Michael and gave the lad a lingering once-over.

 

  
"You're unarmed," was all he said.

 

  
Michael was dead, wasn't he?

 

  
"I-I..." the young man stuttered, unable to think clearly. Michael's jaw snapped shut when the older man laughed.

 

  
"So tense. I could help you out with that, too." He had the gall to wink. Michael hated how his body betrayed him - his pulse sped up; heat thrummed through his entire body. The thought was deplorable, but the hook was deep in Michael's cheek by now.

 

  
"Who are- What's your name?" Michael asked, trying to keep himself in check. He expected the man to continue dodging, but was pleasantly surprised.

 

  
"Ryan," the man answered, unconcerned, and Michael was blown away by how normal that was. He was sure this would be the only time he'd get to label anything about this man - _Ryan_ \- as "normal".

 

  
"Ryan," the young man repeated quietly, mostly to himself. The odds were slim that that was even his real name, but it was good enough for Michael, at least for now.

 

  
Ryan didn't reach out for a handshake. Michael was glad for that.

 

  
"Mm. I think that about does it for formalities, wouldn't you agree?" Ryan asked, and the young man didn't get a chance to respond before the other continued. "I'm sure you'd like a better understanding of why I'm here at all." He sat himself down on Michael's sofa, crossing an ankle over a knee and letting his arms rest on the back of the couch. He gestured for Michael to join him.

 

  
The younger obliged, sitting at the opposite end of the cushions, well out of reach.

 

  
Ryan regarded him with a smile that was far too fond.

 

  
"I enjoyed your work, Michael. It was sloppy, uncoordinated, but passionate. I can tell you enjoyed it, too." Instead of protesting, Michael let the older man speak, staring down at his hands and picking at his finger nails. "I'd like very much to be able to coach that passion into something a bit more... constructive."

 

  
"Like what?" Michael asked dubiously.

 

  
"Oh, I don't know..." Ryan said theatrically, trailing off. "Perhaps, if you do well, you could help me with reducing the amount of contemptible people in this city. Like a sort of... population control. You'd get paid. I think we'd both benefit from such an arrangement."

 

  
Michael knew Ryan was watching him, could feel the man's eyes roaming over him, but he couldn't bring himself to look in his direction.

 

  
"Population control," Michael repeated. The whole thing sounded like the sort of vigilante bullshit that got people killed. Though, Michael mused, Ryan didn't seem like the type to dish out justice. There was something else at play. "What's your idea of 'contemptible'?"

 

  
"That depends on who's paying," Ryan said wryly, waving a dismissive hand.

 

  
Michael laughed in disbelief.

 

  
"You want me to be a _hit-man_?"

 

  
Ryan shifted in place.

 

  
"You'd be good at it," he assured. His smile had been replaced with an apathetic stare. Michael wasn't sure how to interpret that.

 

  
"You're crazy, man-"

 

  
"And you're not?" Ryan countered. His voice carried no emotion.

 

  
Michael shut his mouth and went back to fiddling with his hands. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Ryan had gotten up from his seat and moved to stand in front of Michael, towering over him. Michael finally looked up at him.

 

  
Ryan said nothing for a long while. Then, just when Michael was about to break the silence, the older man reached out a hand and ran his fingers through Michael's curls. He left his hand there.

 

  
"You'll here from me soon, Michael. I have your number."

 

  
He then let his hand slide from Michael's hair and turned, making his way to the door.

 

  
"I have yours, too, now," Michael said quickly.

 

  
Hand on the door knob, Ryan looked back with a grin, wider and more sincere than any other Michael had seen from him.

 

  
"Cute," he mumbled.

 

  
And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

 

  
Michael didn't bother locking the deadbolt. Instead he sat still and replayed the feeling of the older man's fingers tangled in his hair.

 

  
Maybe he wasn't dead, but he was certainly fucked.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! If you enjoyed it, please leave kudos and/or a comment so I know I'm doing something right. Constructive criticism is very much welcomed!  
> Any and all mistakes are my own.  
> Have a wonderful day, you beautiful configuration of being.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter, friends <3 And if you celebrate Thanksgiving, I hope you enjoy yourself and eat lots of food!  
> Any and all mistakes are my own.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ryan didn't have his crew come pick him up after he left Michael Jones' house. He felt there was no need for them to; Michael wasn't about to go and call the police, not after all this. Instead, he opted to set a leisurely pace toward the general direction of his Los Santos penthouse apartment. It was early enough still for the streets to be lined with cars, but late enough for the sidewalks to be mostly empty in this part of the city. Not that it mattered, of course. Ryan would never be recognized. People only knew The Vagabond - ruthless killer, blood-thirsty criminal mastermind, all hidden under his famously chilling skull mask. Outside of his crew, No one knew Ryan.

 

Well. He supposes someone knew Ryan now, but hardly. He hadn't been sure if he wanted to give Michael Jones his real name, but all other aliases had escaped him in the moment when the lad had asked. It was a rookie mistake if he'd ever seen one, but there was nothing to be done about it now. He wasn't going to kill Michael over his own momentary lapse in cognitive function. He hadn't a clue why he didn't want Michael to be killed, as he'd never had an issue with the thought of killing anyone else, aside from his crew, of course (though sometime Gavin pushed his luck).

 

Perhaps he liked the idea of someone knowing him as Ryan, without them knowing he is The Vagabond. Michael would find out if he agreed to join the crew, but for now, it was a pleasant experience. He was glad he hadn't been wearing his mask the first time they met, even if he would admit that only to himself.

 

He arrived at his building after a while and let himself in. He took the elevator to the highest floor, drumming his fingers against his thigh idly. His thoughts stayed on Michael, stayed on that terribly interesting young man who had captured and kept Ryan's attention better than anyone Ryan had ever met before. The older man wasn't about to deny his attraction to the young man.

 

The man smirked. He could could see and practically feel Michael's attraction to him as well. He's quite sure any advances he may make would be met with tentative consent, at the very least. He wouldn't push the kid, god no, that would only scare him off and he'd never come back. If he did come back, Ryan would be very concerned about his mental state. Though, he wasn't exactly one to talk on that subject.

 

He digressed.

 

The elevator stopped on his floor and he stepped out. When he unlocked the door and walked into his apartment, he was completely unsurprised to find two figures slumped into his couch, an X-Box controller in each of their hands. Unsuprised because, despite having their own apartments, they both practically lived here. Ryan knew it was because he had the biggest gaming collection out of everyone in the crew. He'd be selfish to keep it to himself anyway.

 

Both young men looked over the back of the ouch and up at Ryan.

 

"Ryan!" Gavin greeted excitedly. The older man waved with a smile.

 

"Hey, man," Ray said, more reserved. His focus was already back on the game they had been playing before Ryan walked in. A small smirk broke out on his face. "You're dead, Gav."

 

Gavin looked back to the screen with a quiet noise of confusion, then squawked indignantly when he saw that his character had been sniped. "Ray!" he cried, jostling the other with his leg. "That's not fair - I wasn't looking!"

 

Ray positively cackled at Gavin. "Them's the brakes," he declared, smiling wide as he shoved at Gavin in retaliation.

 

Ryan chuckled fondly at their antics. He chose a good family, that's for sure.

 

"Ramsey and Pattillo here?" he asked, shedding his coat by the front door before stepping further into the lounge.

 

"Kitchen," Ray and Gavin supplied as they started up another game.

 

 _Naturally_ , Ryan thought as he passed through the lounge and down a short hallway.

 

"If you're going to drink all my booze, you better at least leave a few pepsis for me," Ryan called.

 

He received loud laughter in return and when he entered the kitchen, he wasn't surprised by what he was met with there either. Geoff Ramsey and Jack Pattillo were both leaning against the bar, empty shot glasses on either side of them. Geoff was holding a beer and Jack was holding what looked to be a glass of water, but could very well not be a glass of water.

 

It was a familiar scene; one that, like with Ray and Gavin, he didn't mind coming home to at all.

 

"Barely even got started," Geoff assured with an easy smile.

 

Ryan hummed in acquiescence, moving to join them at the bar, sitting himself down on a stool between the two. He'd popped the tab of a can of soda when Jack spoke up.

 

"How'd seein' the kid go? What was his name? Michael?" He took a sip of his drink, and his smile was gentle, as it always was.

 

Geoff, on the other hand, crowed and gave Ryan a shove as he shouted, "oh, yeah! Michael! Almost forgot you were doin' that tonight! Did ya fuck 'im?" He grinned like the bastard he knew he was. Jack couldn't help but laugh and Ryan honestly didn't blame him.

 

Still, Ryan rolled his eyes dramatically."No, not exactly."

 

"What happened, then?" Jack said in what seemed like honest curiosity.

 

"Not too much. I offered him a place in the crew. Well, I mean, sort of..." Ryan trailed off, running a hand through his hair. He pulled out his hair-tie when his fingers got caught in it, letting the strands fall loose around his jawline.

 

"Sort of?" Geoff questioned with a raised eyebrow.

"I got the idea of being a hit-man in his head. I didn't mention you guys yet. Or... any of the other work he could possibly be doing if he joined." Ryan took a swig of his drink. "He seemed... overwhelmed. Understandably."

 

"Not a surprise. When you were telling us about him, he didn't sound like a cold-hearted killer. Sounded more like a confused kid with a fucked up brain," Geoff commented. Ryan had to agree that that description fit Michael quite well.

 

"Yeah, I mean... Are you sure he's, y'know, cut out for this kinda thing? I trust your judgement, you know I do. We're all just a little worried. Gavin said the kid's record was squeaky-clean. Doesn't even have a speeding ticket." Jack scratched his scruffy beard.

 

"He doesn't have his driver's license, so that's not too odd," Gavin said from the doorway. He and Ray were crowded around the entrance to the kitchen.

 

"He seems like a weird kid," Geoff said.

 

"Hey!" Gavin gave an offended look to Geoff. "I don't have my license either."

 

Geoff snorted.

 

"You gonna try 'n convince me you're not a weird kid?"

 

Gavin crossed his arms and looked away with a put-upon expression. Ray snickered behind him.

 

Ryan sighed shallowly. "Look, guys, I understand the need for concern, but you saw the body. That wasn't the work of someone acting out of self-defense. He wanted that man dead, and he made damn sure it happened. Talking to him tonight... There's something about him that tells me I can't let him go."

 

"Okay, but like, we've come across plenty of assholes who get off on killin' shit. Why's he any different?" Ray asked. He didn't sound upset, no. More... apprehensive.

 

"Same reason you were different, I imagine," Geoff spoke up suddenly. "You, Gav, and Jack. I saw something in each of you that I liked. If Ryan thinks he sees that in this Michael kid, I'm gonna let him do what he thinks is right, and I'm gonna support him." He smiled, hooking an arm around the two closest crew members, who happened to be Ryan and Jack, his beer bottle dangling loosely by Ryan's shoulder.

 

Ryan couldn't fight back his sentimental grin, especially not when Jack laughed heartily.

 

"You guys are so fuckin' gay," Ray said, even as he and Gavin joined the three men a the bar, swinging their arms around each other's shoulders, then Jack's and Geoff's, creating a snug circle.

 

"You're one to talk," Geoff joked, ruffling the Puerto Rican's hair.

 

They all laughed, and Geoff nearly spilled his beer when Ray stomped on his foot, which caused them to laugh more. As the night wore on, drinks were passed around, and they eventually all sat around the TV in the lounge eating left-over pizza and each getting to pick which games they played. They joked, and laughed, and Ryan was struck again with a sense of warmth and familiarity and he smiled.

 

He really did choose the best family.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                                                  ************

 

 

That night, Michael fell asleep to the lone sound of his breathing and the barely-there sensation of the pulse in his wrist pressed to his cheek.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fake AH Crew family fluff is my favorite thing. Lonely Michael is my least favorite thing.  
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment and kudos so I can find confidence in the approval of strangers, thank you, I love you all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pacing is a little weird in this chapter, but I hope you enjoy anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Michael didn't hear from Ryan for two days.

 

That shouldn't bother him, it really shouldn't. He should be relieved to have been left alone. He should let himself enjoy this silence, he should... He shouldn't crave Ryan's company. He shouldn't want Ryan to contact him, come visit him, talk to him like he was worth talking to. Ryan gave Michael more attention than he'd been given in... hell, way too long. He was desperate for attention and Ryan was just the right kind of wrong that he needed.

 

He considered reaching out to him, because what if that's what the man expected from him? Was this some sort of test? Was Michael failing the test? Was he passing? Was he over-thinking this whole thing?

 

That was most likely the case. And he was over-thinking about all the wrong things. Despite the offer never leaving his mind for a second, he hadn't put much though into his decision. He wasn't actually considering becoming a hit-man, right? That's fucking insane. He's a 24 year old kid that works at Game Stop. He wasn't the sort to turn to a life of crime, shooting up banks and sniping old white dudes for insulting the Russian mafia. Is that even what he'd be doing? He had no fucking clue. Ryan didn't go into detail, didn't explain who exactly he was and what exactly he did.

 

If Michael said no to the offer, he ran the risk possibly being hunted down and killed in his sleep - fuck, they wouldn't even have to hunt him down! Ryan knew where he lived, knew his phone number, and probably knew where he worked. Whoever Ryan worked with had the same information, as they were the ones who had gotten it in the first place.

 

If Michael said yes to the offer, then what? Would he just casually slide in a few paid assassinations in between shifts at Game Stop? Would he have to quit his current job? Would he have to relocate, change his identity? How would he cope with knowing he had killed people?

 

Michael paused. He hadn't hardly spared a thought to the man he'd already killed.

 

He... He killed a man. Killed him. Murdered him. He didn't even care. He was concerned by the fact that he had done it, but he couldn't give less of a shit about the life he'd taken. He really was crazy, wasn't he? Do crazy people realize they're crazy? Does the fact that he recognizes the issue rule out the possibility that he's lost his fucking mind? Here he was, standing in a little corner store, organizing a shelf of used Wii games and entertaining the thought of killing people for a living. What had his life become in such a short amount of time?

 

He went on break a short time later and paced the back room, ignoring the lunch he had in the employee fridge. He was scrolling through Google on his phone, trying to get any information on Ryan he could, but with no luck. He didn't have enough to go off of. Searching "Ryan California killer" into Google didn't give him any good results. All he got were pictures of Ryan Gosling in various movies roles and a few stories of a 1940's serial killer. Those were decidedly not the Ryan he was looking for.

 

His co-worker walked in just as he angrily stuffed his phone back into his pocket. She gave him a concerned look.

 

"You okay, Michael?" she asked as she made her way to the refrigerator, pulling out a Tupperware container with what appeared to be some kind of pasta inside. She opened the lid and set the dish in the microwave.

 

"M'fine, Linsds," Michael said moodily.

 

She shot him an unimpressed frown.

 

"Yeah, okay." She rolled her eyes. "What's up?"

 

Michael huffed. He didn't want to talk. He just wanted to stew in his own thoughts and get upset trying to work this out for himself. Was it healthy? Fuck no. Did it work in the long run? Debatable.

 

"I don't wanna talk about it."

 

"Michael, you've been-"

 

"I'm serious," he cut her off firmly. "I really do not want to fucking talk to anyone about it." Except Ryan. He wanted to talk to Ryan.

 

Lindsey looked hurt and Michael felt like an asshole. He was an asshole. When she left the room after her food was finished heating up, he didn't try to stop her. He doesn't deserve nice people like her anyway.

 

Michael spent the rest of his break in silence, staring at the number on his phone's contact list.

 

 

                                                                                               *****************************

 

 

Ryan felt his phone buzz against his leg while he was flying down the highway, going no less than 100 MPH, with Ray in the passenger seat. The younger man was leaning out the window, shooting at police cars hot on their tail. He whooped and hollered every time a cop fell limp behind the wheel and the car veered out of its lane, crashing into either another car or the barrier preventing the vehicles on the bridge from careening off and down into four lanes of traffic.

 

"Boom! Head-shot!" Ray shouted with a laugh, throwing a fist into the air.

 

Ryan smiled and ignored his phone. It wasn't like he'd be able to respond to to whomever it was anyway. A voice came over his ear-piece.

 

"Vav to Vagabond."

 

"Vagabond here." Ryan grunted as he pulled the steering wheel, swerving across two lanes to avoid gun-fire. Ray was unloading a round before Ryan could even suggest it to him.

 

"Lazer and Bravo Squad are en route to safe house. X-Ray okay?"

 

"X-Ray's good, Vav," Ryan assured with a smirk.

 

Ray grinned at the mention of his name and cooed.

 

"You worried 'bout me, Vav?"

 

"Shut up, you gimp," the Brit barked, though the smile was evident in his voice.

 

"Hey, Vagabond," another voice chimed in through his ear-piece. Ryan immediately recognized it as belonging to Geoff. "What's your ETA?"

 

"Still got a few cops after us. Ray's on it. Expect us in about an hour." Ryan merged onto an exit and sped off the highway down a nondescript street.

 

"Got it," Geoff mumbled. "You did good today, boys."

 

He signed off after that, and Ray ducked back into the car, hair a wind-whipped mess. He was smiling wide and unabashed.

 

"We should be good. Not a single car followed us off the ramp." The young man disassembled his sniper expertly and swiftly, tucking it into a black duffel.

 

Ryan hummed in acknowledgement. Adrenaline buzzed through him like electricity and he rode the high while they raced down the road, taking the long, long way back into the city.

 

His phone was completely forgotten until his crew were all back at Geoff's place, celebrating a job well done with drinks. They divvy up their earnings and it was a unanimous decision to go out for dinner at the nicest place in town. Ryan checked his phone and paused as they were leaving Geoff's place and paused in the doorway.

 

He had a text from Michael.

 

His jovial smile fell into confusion.

 

Michael Jones: Am I allowed to text you?

 

Ryan could almost laugh at the question, but he had no desire to. 'Allowed'? He was allowed to do whatever he wanted - why did he feel the need to ask Ryan?

 

"That the kid?" Geoff asked, looking over his shoulder.

 

"Uh, yeah," Ryan replied as he tilted his screen away from the older man. "Hold on guys, I'm gonna call him real quick."

 

"Sure," Ray shrugged, towing Gavin behind him to the elevator.

 

"We'll meet you at the car," Jack said as he followed the younger lads out. Geoff nodded at Ryan and walked out.

 

Ryan was left alone.

 

He dialed Michael's number and waited for the other to pick up.

 

"Hel...lo?"

 

"Of course you're allowed to text me," Ryan said, forgoing any sort of greeting. "Why wouldn't you be, silly?" 

 

He heard laughter on the other end of the line and smiled. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ew, abrupt ending, sorry.   
> Thank you for reading, friend! If you enjoyed, leave a comment and kudos, and also bookmark if you don't wanna lose this fic in the sea of AO3.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A terrible lack of Michael in this chapter. Shameful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I guess- I mean, I just..." the kid laughed again, though this was more of a self-deprecating huff than a genuine laugh. "I'm just being dumb."

 

 

Ryan frowned. "You're not being dumb," he argued. 

 

"Oh. Oh, um..."Ryan heard shuffling on the other end of the line and he wondered what Michael was doing. "I-I have to... I'm- I just got off work, I have to.... I'm gonna go."

 

"Of course," Ryan granted amicably. "I'm a bit busy as well-"

 

"I'm sorry." Ryan didn't like Michael's tone. He sounded lost, distraught.

 

"Don't be sorry; you're not a bother, Michael. I called you, remember?" Ryan did his best to keep his voice light.

 

"Right," was all Michael said, voice quiet.

 

"I'll talk to you soon, I'm sure, Michael. Feel free to text or call me any time, alright?"

 

"Yeah. Thanks." He could hear the smile in Michael's voice now, and Ryan smiled.

 

"Good bye, Michael."

 

"Bye, Ryan."

 

The line went dead. Ryan shoved his phone into the pocket of his coat and left the apartment with a light smile. He liked the sound of his name coming from Michael.

 

When he exited the towering building, he was met with the crew all gathered around the entrance to Geoff' private garage. As per usual, Gavin and Ray were huddled against the wall, as close together as possible without becoming a singular unit; Gavin seemed to be showing Ray something on his phone and they were both laughing quietly, bent over a lit screen. Jack kept casting gentle looks their way, not escaping the notice of Geoff, who chuckled at him good-naturedly.

 

Ryan's eyes softened as he approached, shoes slapping faintly in shallow puddles on the pavement. Geoff saw him first, waving at him with tired eyes and a lazy grin.

 

"There he is," Jack began, "what was-"

 

"What was that all about, then?" Gavin cut off the older man, bringing Ray to attention as well. He put away his phone and kept his hands in his pockets.

 

"The kid was just asking about contacting me; whether or not he was 'allowed' to." Ryan waved his hand dismissively.

 

"Askin' permission, huh? He the submissive type?" Geoff leered, but there was no effort or mal-intent behind it.

 

"I'll ask him for you," Ryan intoned with a roll of his eyes. Geoff snickered. "He's warming up to me, I think. Getting used to the idea of being associated with me, at the very least."

 

"That's great, man," Jack commented. Geoff brushed by him with a hand on his shoulder and opened the garage door.

 

"I'm hoping it is, yeah." Ryan followed both the older men into the large room, the younger lads trailing behind him. The crew filed into Geoff's sleek black ride and they were off, going slightly too fast and driving slightly too recklessly. The familiarity of it should probably concern Ryan, but he's been doing this for far too long at this point to be fazed anymore.

 

Geoff was blasting the radio and singing along to the pop music that blared through the speakers. Gavin joined him quickly, louder than the gent, leaning on Ray and prodding him until the young man started singing as well, albeit quieter. Ryan and Jack shared a smiled and head shake before they both returned to looking out the windows closest to them. The city passed by in a blur of lighted storefronts and groups of people meandering down cluttered sidewalks. Ryan thought it might have been nice to walk to the restaurant and enjoy the weather. He also thought it might be nice to bomb this city to the ground and crow his victory from atop the rubble, his crew standing tall with him. Michael was there with them in his fantasy, and Ryan didn't bother examining that detail.

 

Miraculously, Geoff wasn't pulled over, and they soon arrived at the restaurant. The valet drove off with the car, and the crew entered the dimly-lit building. The color scheme wasn't what Ryan would have expected from the modern look of the place. The walls were an earthy brown and looked textured; pale yellow light shone down from copper dangling, tear-drop-shaped lighting fixtures. High, curved booths lined each wall but for one, where a full bar hugged the back of the restaurant.

 

Geoff broke away from the group to speak to the manger, whom he claimed to know. They were leaning in close to hear each other over the voices of other patrons and every so often one of them laughed loudly. The man Geoff was talking with was taller than the gent, and a bit broader. He had short brown hair, glasses, and was wearing a suit that fit him nicely.

 

Ryan was instantly suspicious of him, but he trusted Geoff to not endanger himself or his crew without telling them about it first. Geoff brought the man over to the group with an arm around his shoulders.

 

"Boys!" he called. "This is Mr. Burnie Burns, Cali's most wanted, and I'm not talkin' 'bout crime." Geoff shook the man's shoulders, and Burnie chuckled aloud. "He's lettin' us get in here tonight, so you'd all better be ready to kiss his ass."

 

Burnie Burns. That name rang a bell for sure. Burns was the head man of LA's black market, if Ryan remembered correctly, which he did. Ryan had respect for this man. He wondered how Geoff knew him, then almost laughed at himself. Geoff was the leader of one of the most feared gangs in California - he had connections everywhere.

 

"Oh, please, Ramsey," Burns argued with his booming voice. "We're a little beyond favors, aren't we? Let me just do somethin' nice for you, ya bastard."

 

"Ah, you're gettin' soft," Geoff proclaimed, hanging off of Burnie like a parasite one might learn to grow fond of. And it seemed Burns had indeed grown fond, not losing his smile for a second, and even slinging an arm around him in return.

 

"Only for you, man."

 

Ryan glanced around the group to see what they might think of Burns and he relaxed when he saw that they seemed mostly comfortable with his presence, even Ray, who had taken nearly a year to warm up to Ryan. Though, it's not as if his lack of trust wasn't unwarranted.

 

Geoff, remembering he wasn't alone with Burns, introduced his crew to the man without giving away any private information. Ryan would be suspicious of that, but it likely had nothing to do with Burns himself, and more to do with the possibility of other patrons being a little too nosy. Once formailities were made and hands were shook, Burns -"please, just call me Burnie" - personally walked the crew to their table. Ray, Gavin, and Geoff sat on one side while Ryan and Jack sat opposite. Burnie informed them a waitress would be with them shortly. Sure enough, there wasn't even enough time to start up a conversation before a young woman walked up to the table and handed them menus, asking about drink orders.

 

Jack ordered a water.

 

Gavin ordered a beer.

 

Ray ordered a Shirley Temple (which earned him a funny look from the waitress before she remembered herself).

 

Geoff ordered a whiskey.

 

Ryan ordered diet coke.

 

And was promptly teased by his friends for it. He grumbled and ignored them as he perused the menu.

 

After a comfortable lull in which each of them debated food options, the topic of Michael was brought up. Ryan expected this, but he didn't expect this particular line of questioning.

 

"So, you gonna bang 'im?" Of course it was Geoff who broached the subject.

 

If Ryan had been drinking his soda, he's sure he would have spit it out. As it was, he simply shot Geoff a "fucking really?" look.

 

"I assume you're talking about Michael?"

 

"Nah, I'm talkin' about Ray," Geoff joked. Gavin snorted at Ray's vaguely disgusted look and jab him in the ribs with an elbow. "Yeah, man, Michael. Gavin showed me pictures of him when he was digging. He's cute." Geoff raised his cup a bit to punctuate that statement. "If you don't make a move, I just might."

At that, a surge of something hot and grotesque shot through Ryan. A mix of jealousy and something much more sinister. He beat it down violently. This was Geoff. This was his good friend. Geoff was only kidding, only trying to get a reaction out of Ryan.

 

The others didn't seem to notice his internal war and he was beyond relieved. Ryan plastered on a casual smile.

 

"I'll be sure not to let that happen," he said in what he hoped was a light tone.

 

Gavin and Ray made low "ooohh" sounds, accompanied by the two jostling Geoff with their shoulders. Geoff shot each of them a look and they backed off with matching expressions, the kind one might see on a child that had just been admonished by their parent. Jack chuckled quietly, hiding his mouth behind his glass of water.

 

The topic was dropped for now, but Ryan suspected Geoff wasn't done with him. Not even close.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave a comment and kudos, and if you REALLY enjoyed, bookmark this fic for later!   
> Have a wonderful day and keep being awesome.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie, two chapters within one day?! What the fuck is wrong with me, right?  
> It's 4:07 in the morning as I upload this, I haven't slept since Friday, let's hope this makes any sort of sense!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Michael was isolating himself.

He was comfortable admitting that to himself. He had been isolating himself for a long time now, long before he'd met Ryan. He was used to the hallow feeling in his chest when he thought about the friends he hasn't seen in months, the texts and calls he ignores, the looks his coworker gives him when she thinks he isn't paying attention. They were never that close, only seeing each other during work hours, but she insisted they were friends and Michael wasn't inclined to say otherwise. He doesn't talk to her much now. Outside the standard greeting every morning, which Lindsey typically initiated now, he kept to himself.

 

It's been a day since Ryan called Michael. A day since Ryan had assured Michael he wasn't a bother, assured him it was okay to contact the older man. A day since Ryan had done something Michael wholly did not expect from him.

 

He'd put some of Michael's fears to rest, if only for a moment. He didn't call Michael an idiot, he didn't tell him he was in the way, or disturbing him, or annoying him. He sounded... He sounded almost tender. Like he cared. Like he didn't want to let Michael off the phone. Like he actually, in some capacity, wanting to keep talking to Michael. And then, hours later, when Michael had already fallen asleep, Ryan had sent him a text. It wasn't until this morning that he'd seen it, but apparently he had received it at 3:18 AM.

 

From Ryan: Ive been out al night but I just wanted to to say hi sorry if youre alwady asleep are you doing ok ?

 

The text read like he'd either not proofread what he'd written before he sent it, or he was extremely drunk. Or both. If he was "out al night" it was likely that he'd have been drinking, right? The actual substance of the text was what stumped Michael, and reinforced what he was beginning to think of the older man. He cared about Michael in some way. Michael wasn't sure what way, but that didn't matter as much as the fact that there was attentiveness, concern.

 

He hadn't responded. He hadn't know how to. How do you respond to drunken texts? Do you acknowledge them at all?

 

He'd spent hours pondering this, in the comfort of his cramped apartment since he had the day off work. He was alone. His living space was a mess. Ryan cared about him.

 

His old friends had given up keeping in contact with him, and he couldn't bring himself to be upset about it. He'd brought it on himself, and he deserved every bit of it. But Ryan was here now, in all his terrifying strangeness. He was a presence, a human being, and he cared about Michael.

 

He was laying in bed, staring at the wall, when he got another text.

 

From Ryan: Disregard that last text. I may have been drinking last night, and we had been talking about you. Nothing negative, I assure you. We were discussing housing arrangements if you accepted my offer.

 

Michael frowned down at his phone, unease twisting his stomach. 'We'? Housing arrangements? Where would Michael be going if he agreed?

 

From Michael: Who is we? Ryan's reply was delayed enough for Michael to pull himself out of bed and start a pot of coffee. It was after noon, but a late start to the day was better than no start. He was sitting at the kitchen table when his phone vibrated.

 

From Ryan: Oh, right. I have a few people I'd like for you to meet. When you're ready, of course. There's no rush.

 

People Ryan would like Michael to meet. Is there a group of other scary Ryan-types that Michael has to keep his chill around? Who are they? What do they do? Michael sighed in anxious frustration and typed out a reply, quickly sending it before he lost his nerve.

 

From Michael: I'm a little overwhelmed by everything that's happening. Is there any way we could meet up and discuss things in more detail? I feel like I hardly know anything about what I'm signing up for.

 

He regretted hitting 'send' as soon as he did it. He swore at himself.

 

_You sound like a fucking toddler, dipshit._

 

From Ryan: Absolutely, Michael. Would it be alright with you if I came over to your place today? I won't bring the rest of my crew. Just you and me.

 

That sounded... suggestive. Was Ryan just trying to make Michael feel more comfortable by assuring they'd be alone? Or was he actually implying... something... else. Michael didn't know which he'd prefer, if he were honest. There was no denying his attraction to the older man, but pat of him shied away from the thought of anything happening between them, for multiple reasons.

 

The most obvious reason being that they were to be working together. Er... _possibly_ working together, if Michael went through with the job offer. He... he hadn't decided yet, obviously. There was a lot to consider. Like housing arrangements, and meeting Ryan's... friends?

 

And, y'know, the whole contract killer thing. He was at a moral crossroads, torn between right and wrong and _very wrong._

 

Michael scratched his cheek. Maybe he wasn't as torn morally as he should be. As much as he tried, the only worry he had about killing was the fear of getting caught.

 

Any way.

 

He was indecisive about whether he wanted to bone his future boss. Was boss the right word? Would Ryan be in charge of him? Superior to him?

 

From Michael: Yeah, that's fine. Is sometime around 6 okay?

 

Michael had no plans, but he didn't want to have to rush to get ready for Ryan's arrival. This way, he'd have plenty of time to clean his apartment, shower, and over-analyze everything until he was near a mental breakdown. It would work out perfectly.

 

From Ryan: 6 works just fine. I'll see you then, Michael.

 

Michael poured a cup of coffee and read over the conversation they'd had at least 10 more times before resigning himself to start fixing up his place for... no, not for Ryan. He was cleaning because he had to. He didn't have anyone to impress.

 

Shut up.

 

 

 

 

                                                                                          ***********************************

 

 

 

 

 

Ryan turned off his phone.

 

There. The possibility of sex should be implanted in Michael's head now, unless the kid was more naïve than he let on. He seem like a smart one though.

 

Toying with the kid's head in little ways such as these was fun. He liked making Michael squirm, and he hoped that this would do the trick nicely. He'd have to wait a few hours to see. It wasn't like Ryan was messing with him for no reason, either. He wanted Michael to want him, because he wanted Michael. In many ways.

 

Lounging around after a night of drinking (which was something he was less than prone to do, to say the least, but he'd been egged on by the feel of the night and the urging of his friends) had given him more time to think about the many ways in which he craved the young man. He wanted to kiss him. Touch him. Undress him slowly. Taste every inch of him. Ryan wanted to _fuck him_. Hard and fast. Slow and gentle. He _wanted_ Michael.

 

He wanted to wake up with the young man plastered to his side, their limbs tangled, naked bodies pressed together in Ryan's bed. Ryan wanted to see the marks he'd bitten and sucked into Michael's skin, wanted to run his tongue over them possessively.

 

He was entering dangerous waters.

 

He has never wanted to drown so desperately.

 

His phone vibrated.

 

From Michael: Yeah, that's fine. Is sometime around 6 okay?

 

Perhaps he had caught on. 6 PM wasn't a very late hour, but it was certainly odd to adjourn for a meeting any time after 4, Ryan thought. Ryan typed out a reply and set his mind on a slightly different subject, namely the idea that Michael would actually want to discuss what his role would be if he joined the crew and where he'd fit in in their lives. Ryan wondered if Michael would be willing to move house for this job. It was best for each member to be paired with another. Ray and Gavin shared an apartment, and Jack lived on the story right below Geoff's. Ryan was the only member to not live in the same building as any of his fellow work affiliates, as he firmly refused to move out of his current residence and the others were stern in staying where they lived as well. Michael might not be opposed to the idea, however. Ryan had seen where he lived; it was nothing impressive. Quite the opposite, really, it was a miserable little thing. Ryan should be focusing more on making sure the kid was living comfortably before he tried to get him into his bed.

 

_I could do both at the same time if Michael would ever even consider living with me._

 

The thought crossed Ryan's mind and before he could stop himself, he was enticed by it.

 

They'd have much to discuss in a few hours.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and also I'm sorry. I'm tired.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, friends. Life has been kicking my ass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Ryan showed up at Michael's door at 5:52 PM, he was met with the sight of the younger man in a state of frazzled undress, and he took his time taking in every detail. His curly hair was wet and messily tousled, like it had just been scrubbed with a towel. He had a light flush across his cheeks that spread down to his shockingly bare chest, water droplets trailing down his flat stomach and disappearing into the waistband of his jeans (he was softer around the stomach than Ryan would have thought, though that was somehow endearing). A warm heat radiated from the lad; he'd just come out of the shower, then.

 

Ryan licked his lips, unable to stop his eyes from wandering across the expanse of pale, lightly freckled skin.

 

"Ryan, hi- uh. Let me get-" Michael cleared his throat, then stood aside, granting the other access. "Come in. I'll, I'll be right back, go ahead and take a seat on the couch."

 

He fled before Ryan could even cross through the doorway, and the older man's eyes followed after him as he retreated into what Ryan knew to be his bedroom. He then sat himself down on the couch as directed and awaited the other's return.

 

When Michael did return, he had thrown on a graphic t-shirt and was combing his fingers through his hair hurriedly in a poor attempt to bring order to his unruly curls. There were drops of water soaking through his shirt, darkening the fabric in places. Michael stood in front of him, sheepish and contritely shifting his weight from foot to foot. Ryan smirked, something smug in the expression.

 

"I think I liked the other outfit better," he said, voice purposely lowered. The older man felt a swell of pride when he saw goose bumps race across Michael's arms, raising the hair on his biceps. Ryan wasn't positive if the blush on his cheeks was leftover from the shower or if he'd been the cause. He had a good idea of which one was the answer.

 

"Guess I should'a kept it on, then," the younger man mumbled, and the mercenaries' responding grin was downright lascivious.

 

"I'd say so, yeah. Perhaps we should get business out of the way first."

 

The brilliant red that swept up Michael's neck and cheeks was a sight worth beholding, and behold Ryan did. He stared at the young man until the other shuffled in discomfort and cleared his throat. Ryan pulled his eyes away to meet slightly glazed over brown ones.

 

"Right. Uh. Yeah, I-I have questions."

 

"Of course. Sit" Ryan gestured to the other side of the couch, and Michael complied without hesitation, all too willing to take orders, even inside his own home. "Go on, Michael."

 

Michael sat far enough away from Ryan that he couldn't accidentally touch the younger man, but with his legs spread, he nearly brushed his knee against Ryan's every so often and it almost had the mercenary crawling out of his skin. Michael's voice pulled him out of his head.

 

"Okay, first of all..." He drummed his fingers on his knee in what appeared to be a nervous habit. "I need to know what exactly I'd be doing if I... y'know, joined your gang, or whatever the fuck you're part of."

 

Ryan chuckled lightly.

 

"The FAH Crew. Heard of it?"

 

Michael shook his head.

 

 

"Not surprising. Most people only know about us individually. Do you know anything about a man who goes by the name Vagabond?"

 

 

At that, Michael's eyes widened, recognition dawning on him.

 

"The guy with the skull mask? Who blew up an entire airport hangar with a rocket launcher? And got away with it?" If Michael was intrigued before, now he was absolutely enthralled. "Yeah, I've fuckin' heard of him! He's in your 'crew'?"

 

Ryan quirked an eyebrow at him with a wide grin.

 

"He's on your couch."

 

At that, Michael paled, face falling into a dumbfounded, open-mouthed stare. When he spoke, his voice was hardly a whisper.

 

"You... You're the Vagabond?" He looked both scared and in awe, and that was just how Ryan liked his victim's to look. He wasn't sure if this looked quite suited Michael, however.

 

"I am indeed," Ryan said, playing up his grandiosity to cover his sudden disquiet. He swung an arm over the back of the couch and gave Michael a smug smile. The young man took in a deep breath through his nose.

 

"Holy shit," he breathed, eyes locked on Ryan's face, tracing over his features. "You're, you're not just fucking with me, are you?"

 

"I'm sure you wish I was kidding," Ryan said with a laugh. "But I can assure you I'm not. I am the Vagabond." To further convince the younger, Ryan pulled his black mask from the pocket of his coat, holding it out to Michael.

 

"Holy shit," Michael said again, reaching for the mask.

 

Ryan hesitated for only a moment before letting the young man take it. It felt strange having someone else handle the mask, his entire identity, but Michael was looking down at the article with something like reverence, and a twist of anxiety in Ryan's chest abated, smoothing over until it felt more like relief. Michael then looked up at Ryan.

 

"You're fucking crazy," he declared, but there was a small smile there now. "Dude, you're... Holy shit, Ryan, you're a fucking mad man! You want me to help you with, with... that?" He gesticulated wildly, a manic look on his face.

 

"'That'," Ryan quoted with a laugh, slightly taken aback. "I wouldn't think you'd be a fan of our work."

 

"Well, I mean, I wouldn't say fan, but I-I've seen you on the news, I've seen videos of all the shit you've pulled off. I don't know how you haven't gotten caught."

 

"I have a good crew," Ryan said with a proud smile. "An excellent crew - the best."

 

Michael looked off to the side, thoughtful.

 

"And..." He huffed. "And you want me to be a part of it?"

 

"Oh, yes, Michael. I want you." Ryan gave the younger man a decidedly suggestive look and was rewarded with a lovely blush.

 

"Well, then..." Michael's voice came out rather rough and he cleared his throat. "Tell me all about what you want from me; what will I be doing in your crew?"

 

Ryan shifted, trying to subtly shuffle closer to Michael.

 

"Firstly, it's not technically my crew. It's Ramsey's. He brought all of us together and he's the mastermind behind most of our heists. I'll explain that more later." Ryan waved hand dismissively, then let it fall back across the top of the couch, nearer to Michael's shoulder. "There are quite a few roles you could fill - you could even have multiple duties in the crew. We'll have to see what you're best at. You're obviously strong; that man you killed had quite the size advantage over you. How long did it take for you to subdue him?"

 

"Not long," Michael answered immediately. "He got a couple hits in, but once I got the knife from him... He went down easy."

 

"Do you have any experience with fighting?" Ryan raised a brow curiously. He was thrilled to have Michael talking about the incident, previously fearing the lad would be experiencing some sort of guilt or regret, or even trauma from the event. However, Michael seemed perfectly at ease disclosing details to the older man and Ryan couldn't be more pleased.

 

"Not really. I mean, I got beat up in school a lot so I learned how to protect myself, but, like, I didn't take classes or anything." Michael ran a hand through his hair and Ryan watched in casual fascination. His hair was still damp.

 

The disdain that rose in Ryan's stomach for the punks who had dared to harm Michael was wholly unnecessary, he knew that, but that didn't lessen the feeling. He reasoned with himself that had Michael not needed to learn to protect himself, he may not be here, sitting with Ryan and discussing the details of joining the FAHC. Ryan may have instead stumbled upon a very different, very unsavory scene in the alley.

 

He shook off that thought.

 

"No classes were needed, apparently. You did very well, Michael."

 

Michael positively flushed with pride and Ryan took in the sight gratefully.

 

"However," the older man continued, tilting his head forward a bit. "You may need to work on how you handle a blade. A little sloppy, I have to admit."

 

Michael's lips twisted, then he shrugged, slouching against the couch cushions. Ryan adored seeing him so relaxed.

 

"I'll have to practice then, huh?"

 

"I can help with that," Ryan offered. Michael gave him a once-over, looking curious. "You a knife guy?" Ryan laughed.

 

"I'm the knife guy, kid. Trust me, I can teach you everything you need to know."

 

Michael grinned, an actual grin, and Ryan's breath caught. He took a moment to compose himself before speaking again.

 

"Again, we can get into that later. You're strong, that's what I wanted to talk about."

 

Michael laughed lightly.

 

"Go on, then."

 

At last, Ryan mustered the courage to nudge his knuckles against Michael's shoulder playfully. The younger man's cheeks colored, and his smile stayed.

 

"Don't get cheeky, Jones." Ryan left his hand resting by the tendon that connected shoulder to neck, just barely touching. Michael didn't seem to mind, even leaning further into the contact. That was a good sign, Ryan hoped. "We'll build your muscle mass, get some boxing lessons in - bulk you up. You'll come in handy. Whenever you're ready, I'll take you to The Office and introduce you to the rest of the crew. Ramsey will want to test you out to see just where you'll fit in, but I can tell you now he'll probably place you alongside me for the time being."

 

"What are they like?" Michael asked, smile falling.

 

"The crew? You'll like them, they're..." Ryan trailed off, fond smile present. "They're as good as good gets, in our line of work. They're something special."

 

Michael nodded. "Who all is there? I wanna be at least a little prepared when I meet them."

 

"Ramsey, the boss. Show him respect and you'll get respect in return. He's a good man. There's Gavin, who will do everything in his power to convince you he's an idiot, but he's not, whether he realizes it or not. Don't underestimate him. He's the best hacker I've ever seen. Never takes himself very seriously though. He'll grow on you. Ray's our sniper and you'll do well not to get on his bad side. He handles our explosives and h and Gavin are joined at the hip. Those lads are inseparable and have killed fo each other. Jack is invaluable. He keeps us hidden and works with Geoff on planning heists. I'll let you form your own opinion of him. We all look out for each other. If you join, we'll look out for you too."

 

Ryan watched Michael lick his lips.

 

"So, you trust them?"

 

"With my life," Ryan responded easily, but sincerely. "And you'd better be prepared to trust them with yours too."

 

Michael was silent a while, clearly lost in thought. When he spoke again, it was with the tone of someone who had resigned themselves to their doomed fate.

 

"...When can I meet them?"

 

Ryan beamed.

 

"I'll set up the meeting and let you know. In the meantime - housing. You won't be living here when you join. You need to be closer to at least one member, preferably me so I can personally keep an eye on you." _And so I have an excuse to be near you all the time_ , Ryan did not say.

 

"Deal. This is a shithole. Where do you live?"

 

Michael didn't appear at all upset about leaving his home, but Ryan would have been much more surprised if he had been upset about it. Ryan was about offer to show him tonight when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

 

Geoff: Get over here, now.

 

Ryan's good mood was gone in an instant as he read the text, brows furrowing.

 

"Ryan? Everything okay?" Michael voice pulled him back into reality .

 

"Fine," Ryan assured firmly. Then, calmer, "everything's fine, but I need to go."

 

He stood and the younger man stood with him and followed him as he rushed to the door. "I'll show you where I live when I take you to meet the crew. We'll be going to The Office, so you'll get a tour of our operation too. Sorry to leave in such a hurry." Michael waved a hand casually, though he looked more than concerned. Ryan pulled open the door, but paused. He turned back to Michael and pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket, pressing it into Michael's hand, laying his open palm over the back of Michael's hand. "Quit your job," he said, then pulled away, slipped on his mask, and hurried out the door.

 

Michael held the door cracked open until Ryan was out of sight, then he shut and locked it. He fell heavily back onto the couch, envelope clutched in his hands. He stared at it for a moment, then opened it carefully.

 

And promptly dropped the whole thing, jumping up from the couch and stumbling away, eyes locked on the small package.

 

Later, when he had his faculties about him enough to sift through the envelope properly, he counted out 50,000 USD.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> If you enjoyed, give a kudos and comment so maybe I can stop hating myself *suffering through a thumbs up*

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed and would like to see more, leave a comment and kudos!


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